Lincoln City, OR – late night

Things I’ve noticed.

If I have people around, I don’t do updates very often, nor are the updates very long. “People,” in this case, can mean friends from home, new friends I’ve just met, or real time internet friends, when I’ve had an active connection (just twice so far, unfortunately). In addition to not writing updates, I tend not to write songs or record them.

Since I got to San Diego, I haven’t written or recorded any songs (wait, that’s a lie, I did do a little taping in Las Vegas), and the frequency of updates has bottomed out.

I briefly mentioned that I worry about this. I can also connect it with certain other instances in my history that make me wonder how able I am to create, to write, as long as I’m not miserable in a hole somewhere. This is a concern beause I really feel better about things when I’m writing about them. I hope to be able to actually make a living at writing things, but once I get started in a direction, things distract me. I lose touch with whatever was so important that I had to write it out in the first place.

At some point, it becomes like work.

I have to find a way to create regularly, to write to deadlines, to meet obligations, while maintaining the urgency I feel when I write because I have no other choice.

I just can’t go back to changing passwords for a living. I’ll be fixing an idiot problem for the same person for the third time that week and I’ll snap and the headlines will read BALD MAN CHANGES EXECUTIVE PASSWORD TO “FUCKING PINHEAD,” KILLS DOZENS.

Aside: My mother hates that word I just used up there. And it’s not like I’m doing it just to get the ‘R’ rating. I mean, I have friends who might like to read these to their grandparents, or to their kids, or even to their friends from church. I worked on that line for quite a while (I know, kind of takes away from the magic, doesn’t it), and there was just no other way to do it that had the same impact. I mean, even _reading_ that word, my eyes close, my head turns to one side, and I almost spit it out. Sure, it’s childish and asinine, but then again, it’s childish and asinine that you make twenty times my salary and you can’t remember which of your kids name you used as a password, you dipshit jerkoff. Oh, hell, there I go again. Sorry.

But can you see why I can’t go back to doing something like that? I mean really. It’s only a matter of time before I get fired, or punched, or shot.

So does anybody know of someone with a job opening for an elitist smartass?

Postscript: I’ve noticed that typing updates with a kitten nearby is a lot like that game Whack-A-Mole…